Almost Like Time Travel
by Lex Munro
Summary: Cable & Deadpool one-shot. A fix-it AU where Wade ends up in the events of Messiah War without being rotten or quite as insane . Nate/Wade pairing. Warnings: AU, slash, silliness, lewd implications, mild language, talk of violence.


i wrote this right after the end of Messiah War, i think.

lol. i have no excuses that could ever suitably explain this fic.

okay, i lied, i have one: Stryfe ripping Wade in half a thousand years in the future. the future Bishop helped Stryfe engineer really sucked balls (and not in a good way).

but other than that, i have no excuses for this rambling bout of silliness.

**warnings:** slash. goofiness. lewd implications. au with 616 references. spoilers, i guess...for Messiah War and the aftermath of Civil War. language: pg-13 (primetime tv plus s***).

**pairing:** Nate/Wade (Cable/Deadpool, for those just joining us).

**timeline:** maybe...forty or fifty years after Secret Invasion?

**disclaimer:** Marvel owns Cable & Deadpool, Disney owns Marvel. "Scotty McBoyScout" and "Pseudo-Utopian Dictatorship Is Next to Godliness" were both coined by MerianMoriarty.

**notes:** 1) i couldn't shake the mental image of this fic, after i read Wizard's summary for X-Force meeting up with Wade during Messiah War. some shit about finding out he'd been hiding in a freezer for four hundred years or something. lol. i said to myself "FUTURAMA XD." and a bizarre story of Wade accidentally falling into a cryo-tube ensued. i found it much funnier to turn it intentional and slashy while making fun of what Wade claimed happened in Messiah War (because really, how many of us believe his account of events? he's a brain-damaged loony and sometimes-compulsive-fibber who had, to his own admission, cultivated a split personality). 2) Wade would totally look at a world with two Nates and go "Deadpool. WINS."

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><p><strong>Almost Like Time-Travel<strong>

Wade, being a manly badass take-no-bullshit mercenary, would be the last person to admit that he missed Nathan-of-the-gazillion-bajillion-names. They'd had some good times, they'd gone all goopy together and he'd been puked into a good-looking puddle (okay, so that part was kinda weird, and he'd gone right back to Rubber-Zombie-Mask face afterward, but the teleportation thing was a really nifty side-effect and he could laugh at the word 'bodyslide' for _days_), they'd taken over a third-world country, they'd been on…slightly better terms than most people guessed (aside from Dom, 'cause she knew how to read Messiah-lemming's blank faces even better than Irene did, and she'd walked in on them two and a half times)…

But that didn't mean he missed the big dork.

Nope. Nosiree. Not a bit.

And any hypothetical emo-ing over Priscilla's state of being-or-not-being had absolutely no bearing on Wade's current contemplations of cryogenics (that's three Cs, heh…alliteration is fun, but not as fun as assonance, which sounds naughtier).

"It wouldn't even have to be a _good_ freezer," Weasel had said, a few decades earlier. "Though, obviously, a good one would be better than a crappy one. Just 's long as it got cold enough. Even if your cells froze in a way that would be fatal to most people, you'd more than likely be just fine when you thawed. And if you froze completely solid, you probably wouldn't be aware of the outside world or the passage of time, so it'd be almost like time-travel."

"Cool," was all Wade had replied, with a big grin. Time-travel might be fun, after all, and why should Mr. Grumpypants and Marxist-Bandana-Boy be the only ones allowed to do it? Besides, Wade liked the sound of the word 'Dead-sicle' ('Deadpool-sicle' took too long to say and 'Pool-sicle' was just _weird_).

He'd thought a lot about the situation, and about all of Nate's semi-prophetic doom-babble, and he'd come to the conclusion that wherever (or whenever) Nate was, he probably needed his pet mercenary. Cultists were all well and good, but they were no match for a highly trained, highly spliced, nearly invincible professional murderer. Well, not murderer anymore, since Nate had trained him outta all that killing-when-not-absolutely-necessary.

And he kinda owed it to Nate…just a little…because the dopey ape had gone and 'fixed him,' making his brain all better so there weren't as many voices and stuff, and convincing him that he wasn't beyond saving and maybe they could turn the world into a better place and blah, blah, blah. So if he excused the whole Nate-getting-bent-outta-shape-over-the-Registration-Act thing (because, really, _he'd_ gotten bent outta shape over it, too, and at least neither one of them had ended up dead or in prison or supplanted by Norman Osborn—oh, SNAP), there was still some left over from the whole teleporting-him-away-from-Providence-before-it-blew-up thing, and that was as good a reason as any to find the big mook and pester—uh, _help_ him.

…okay. Okay, so when it came right down to it, he didn't think he could handle a few centuries of no boring sermons, no soft smiles, no patient sighs, no surprisingly ergonomic oversized human pillow…

He definitely didn't like not living in a palace full of hippie-groupies who'd bend to his every whim because he was boinking their god-figure—it was way too convenient having people to send out for beer, cheesy puffs, and porn so that he never had to leave the bed/couch/bathtub/whatever. And it was way too _awesome_ having perky-chested Askani'son worshippers to fan him, feed him, and rub his feet. Yeah, he missed _that_ part, at least…and, okay, yeah, the kinky telekinetic sex and the kinky gravimetric hatesex.

But if somebody he didn't want to kill cornered him and asked him…someone like Irene, or Scotty McBoyScout (Wade had been forbidden repeatedly by several people to call Cyclops 'Daddy'), or Sandi 'n Inez…he'd pout and whine and finally admit that _yeah_, life would still suck if he had all the supermodel lemming-cultists he wanted but no mountain-of-angst boyfriend.

Okay, yeah, he'd admit that much, but so what? Wade spoiled easily by nature, and Nathan Christopher Charles Seventeen-Oh-One Dayspring Enterprise _Whatever_ had been really ridiculously good to him, overall.

That was _so_ the only reason he missed Nate.

Because, aside from all that mushy stuff, the guy was a total putz. He danced around the world political stage with a friggin' bullseye on his forehead and a sign on his back that said 'Please Assassinate Me' (or possibly 'Pseudo-Utopian Dictatorship Is Next to Godliness'). If there was a kitten up a tree somewhere, he'd shoot himself in the foot to rescue it (don't ask how the foot-shooting thing could possibly rescue a kitten, because if there was a way to do it, Nate would find it). If there was a little kid being mugged for lunch money, he'd be there to do the Robocop 2 finger-wave-and-lecture routine. If there was a little old lady hobbling woefully across Manhattan rush-hour, he'd throw himself in front of angry Indian cab drivers for her.

All because some dick in the future said, "You have to save the world!" and Nate was too gullible and self-sacrificing to say, "Why me?"

Wade tilted his head and stared hard at the cryo-chamber (he'd decided to ditch the idea of an industrial freezer, because no good ever came of waiting in a lead-lined cooler for somebody to sort out the end of the world).

_Maybe_ Nate had gotten out of it somehow. Y'know. Not gone all future-y or no-longer-in-this-dimension-y or kaboomy (kaboomy would be _bad_ and _depressing_). Maybe it'd been a joke, and Nate was waiting to jump out and say 'boo.'

Wade chewed his lip, looked around, eyed the other end of the room, where there should be plenty of space. _Just in case_, he crossed his fingers and said, "Bodyslide by two."

Nothing happened. He didn't even go zappity across the room.

He wasn't sure if he would've been less upset or _more_ upset if it had worked. There would've been a requisite amount of scolding and fighting and unmanly hugging and crying, but at least there would've been an overgrown palooka to do it all _to_.

Well…no biggie. Maybe Nate hadn't gotten around to fishing it out of the ocean and fixing it. Maybe he'd fixed it, but it was broken _again_. Nate said the matrixy-teleporty-thing broke lots (Dom said that most people and things around Nate broke lots, and she looked really teed off when she said it, like it had been from _experience_ or something, but Irene tended to say the same thing, and they should really just get it over with and _make out_, because they were made for each other and it would be really hot in an angry-lesbians-with-guns kinda way).

Maybe the stupid thing was still at the bottom of the ocean with everything _else_ and wouldn't be fixed until somebody from the future trawled it up or Nate came back with a different one from the future or some dude actually built it in the first place.

Nate would totally be back. Right? Because the future still sucked, and maybe the present sucked, too, and no way was Nate gonna give up on the G.I. Jesus schtick in a hurry. Besides, Nate was too stupid to die.

It still left Wade with no bodyslide (pfffft, _bodyslide_…it's funny 'cause it sounds like lube) and no obnoxious boyfriend (well, he could _get_ an obnoxious boyfriend, but the options weren't great, and he liked to think he had the capacity for a loose approximation of monogamy…monoandry?…whatever).

So he pouted and eyed the funky-looking cryo-freezer some more.

From what he remembered of the scripts for the crossover, he had something like a four hundred year wait ahead of him (unless that was the script for some weird alternate universe plotline, which was always a distinct possibility, because he remembered reading something about eight hundred years, too). He'd _definitely_ run out of junkfood and Bea Arthur by then (maybe even porn, god forbid).

"Deadpool the time-traveller!" he said in an exaggerated movie-announcer voice. "This is so Futurama…" And then he shrugged and followed the directions Weasel had written for him (the page had the words 'Do-It-Yourself Cryogenics' at the top).

Unfortunately, it turned out that, even frozen solid in a very good cryogenic freezing tube, he was _completely_ aware of the passage of time…which was all kinds of sucky with no TV, no junkfood, and no ability to twiddle his thumbs and toes (or other bits better left unmentioned). Not very time-travelly.

When he thawed out four hundred years later, the world had a significantly lower amount of awesome (and sanity, on his part, thanks to all the boredom), but a significantly _higher_ amount of Nate—twice as much, it turned out…no, more than that, because twice zero was still zero, but there was a Hot-Super-Jesus Nate and a Hot-Evil-Clone Nate, so that was two, not zero. Surely two Nates trumped a dying world full of oppression and suffering. Clones were almost the same as twins, when it came to kinky fetishes, after all.

And it wasn't like he'd ended up being enslaved by Hot-Evil-Clone Nate or buried under some rubble for a few centuries or something embarrassing like that. That was what alternate universes were for—so that some _other_ version of Wade could end up being ripped in half and looking like a chump. So, _yeah_. Hot clone action.

Wade called that a win.

He looked through the wall everyone else ignored and gave a thumbs-up. "Deadpool: one; space-time continu-thingy: zippo. God bless fanfiction."

**.End.**


End file.
